Leviathan
by Sorida
Summary: Cross posted on Ao3. They'd all heard the story: a lone scout defied a warlord and paid the price. He was regarded as a hero, an unbreakable spirit, and a loyal soldier. What they never heard were the details, that strength draws from the many and some influences run deeper than others. (Why yes, this is a Tyger Pax story.)
1. The Prologue

"It's too soon."

Pede steps echoed down a dark hallway, breems earlier filled with bots. The silence reigned supreme, though perhaps metaphorically. This was a medbay after all, the rhythms and melody of machinery and patients were eternal. There once was a time when a medsuite would stay unoccupied for joors at a time, but those days seemed long gone. A pessimist might say they'd stay filled until the planet and its inhabitants had nothing more to give. An optimist might look around and remember those who walked out on their own accord. While the tragedy still happened, there were successes to be celebrated.

A realist would dismiss both. Illness, damage, and the like was a part of life, it only boils down to circumstance and the individual. But no matter what happens, the preventative measures taken to keep others living, everyone would eventually die and the universe would move on and somewhere along the line, an existential crisis got thrown in for kicks.

However, this was not the situation at hand and it probably wouldn't be until the factions disbanded and Cybertron was at peace. For now, the focus remained in the present.

"We require the information."

Two figures approached a medsuite. Unlike in the times of old, there was no fancy sci-fi door or shiny walls in sight. The area was sterile, but drab. Redesigned from a well-secluded storage unit, berths decorated the walls with not much in terms of privacy. However, the few medsuites that existed - repurposed from the confidential holding areas once used to house more dangerous substances - were bright, packed with equipment, separated from prying optics by only a thin mesh, and only for those ready to fall into the Well at a moment's notice. It was not a place you wanted to be.

After all, most soldiers that went in didn't walk out.

"He's barely out of surgery! He'll be incoherent and in pain-"

"He will share what he knows. If the last incident was anything to go by, nothing short of stasis will stop him."

A scoff.

"Make that nothing short of offlining."

A pause.

"...I wish I knew what he was trying to say. During extraction, he kept trying to speak and by the Allspark, I've never heard any bot sound like that. I'm glad you never saw him like that. You should never have to see him like that."

"I regret that you had to, old friend."

It's almost amusing when others have conversations about you and believe you can't hear. Good or bad, whatever is heard is the truth. Well, for the most part it is.

Eavesdropping had always been a hobby for Bumblebee, mostly because he enjoyed spooking other bots when after five kliks, they'd realize he was there. He just had an affinity for sneaking around with a mischievous streak that spanned the Acid Wastes. They were ideal qualities for a scout as well as for anyone in Special Ops. However, he didn't like to dwell on that experience. He was happy being a scout.

He'd be happier if Optimus and Ratchet just came into the medsuite already. The scout had been conscious for the better part of a breem and hearing such somber tones from his leader made him bristle. Oh, he was frustrated - enraged even - with the Prime's actions and maybe it was all the inhibitors in place to keep him from really feeling those torn cables and shattered struts, but all he could focus on was his anger.

Bumblebee knew better than to move - after all, he wasn't a fool. All relays and programs connected to his voice box were severed and rather than investigate that issue, he only huffed in exasperation and searched for something that would make a noise. Well, he would have if his limbs wanted to cooperate. By the way, how did he even get so slagged up in the first place?

Whatever, not important. His optics spiraled as his focus shifted from one item to the next. There was the spark monitor, stuff about his vitals (wow, his coolant levels were absolutely _dismal_ ), damage report (what sorry fragger did he have to punch for shanking his tank?), a laser scalpel that was too far away, and a lot of wires connected to his frame. Huh, looks like the only thing he could move was himself.

…

There was an almighty crash from from the medsuite, causing both mechs outside of it to jump. Well, Ratchet jumped. Optimus's plating flared out as he slowly looked towards the suite like Megatron himself had fallen and couldn't get up. Then, a machine behind the mesh began to wail and Ratchet ran towards the room, practically ripping the mesh off in his haste.

The sight he was greeted with was a very regretful-looking scout who had definitely fallen and couldn't get up.

"For the love of Primus…" Was Ratchet worried? Oh definitely, he'd done nothing but worry when he'd first caught wind of the situation in Tyger Pax. But with the absolute worst behind them, he could take the brief respite the universe had offered him to raise a servo to his helm and pinch his crest. "Bumblebee, what the frag were you thinking?"

Too high on inhibitors to realize wow, that should've hurt, Bumblebee looked up at the medic and offered his best shrug with whatever components decided to work. That's about when Optimus stumbled in, watching wide-eyed as Bumblebee so casually offered him a nod of acknowledgement.

I wanted to get your attention.

If a text comm. could whine, this one definitely did. That was all it took to make a wrench collide with that annoyingly yellow helm. Ratchet was fuming and no matter how pathetic Bumblebee tried to look, he would never be able to stop the onslaught. "WHY DIDN'T YOU COMM. US, YOU PIT-SPAWNED PIECE OF SCRAP?!"

...I didn't think of it.

"OF COURSE YOU DIDN'T THINK OF IT, YOU FRAGGING IDIOT! Do you even know what kind of damage you could have caused yourself? Do you?! Now, I have to run another deep scan on you - don't give me that look, you should've thought of this before you pushed yourself off the berth - and we're going to make sure you didn't slag anything else up and if Primus is kind, hopefully, you only tore some minor relays. Little glitch. Optimus?"

The Prime in question had just been standing in the doorway, unwilling to get in the middle of his medic's tirade lest he be subject to it as well. But now that the worst of it had died down, Optimus dared to enter the suite completely. "How may I be of assistance?"

By now, Ratchet had moved on to prepping the equipment he needed and making sure Bumblebee hadn't damaged any of the machines he'd been hooked up to. With a wave of his servo, he replied, "Get him on the berth and make sure he doesn't do that again."

With a nod, Optimus began his task. However, it was about then that Bumblebee realized oh yeah, he was pissed as all hell. As Optimus knelt to lift the scout, Bee swatted at his servo. It was weak and it missed, but the intention was clear: _don't fragging touch me._

Alarmed, Optimus reluctantly drew back. "Bumblebee?"

You don't trust me.

The message was scathing, so unlike Bumblebee's usual temperament. When the scout spoke aloud, he had a tendency to talk too much, sharing details and happily explaining his escapades. But over written communication, he never used too many words and never too little. Every statement he made had hesitancy. The point was always clear and at times, brutally honest. Writing was Bumblebee's medium and fortunately or not, it was showing now. Optimus felt a pang of sorrow rush through his spark and the desire to solve this problem immediately. "Nothing is farther than the truth, Bumblebee. I trust you with my spark."

But not enough to know the true location of the Allspark?

In war, calls need to be made. Bumblebee's extraction was one that almost wasn't made - not that anyone would let the scout know. Another had been the decision to limit information about the Allspark's whereabouts. It wasn't a detail the Prime believed Bumblebee would ever have to know or one that he thought would come back to bite him. Withholding the information proved to be the wrong call. After the incident with the Decepticon spy with strange colloquialisms, Bumblebee had cemented his loyalty and trustworthiness. Optimus trusted the scout with his life, even if he'd never told him aloud. Reaching again for the downed bot, he gently lifted Bee and placed him back on the berth.

"I have my reasons, as did the other officers at the time. However, I apologize for this lapse of judgment. You - and those of your team - had the right to know. We believed withholding the information would protect you long enough to expel the Allspark from the planet. We were wrong." The metaphorical silence was back, laced with regret and the last twinges of anger Bumblebee could muster. He wanted to stay mad, wanted to lash out at a target because screw it, he wasn't a hatchling or even a botling. The only ones who seemed to treat him otherwise were the Decepticons, and even they saw him as an annoyance that needed to be silenced.

Well, they got their wish.

He tried to glare at his leader, tried to channel what hurt and betrayal he felt into that one expression, and faltered. He wasn't the hateful type nor did he want to be. His optics shifted, both accusing and confused as he began to calm down. He didn't want to hate. Twiddling his digits, he cast his gaze to the berth.

I'm sorry for doubting you.

It was hard, getting used to texting. Bumblebee wanted to talk but since he woke up the first time, he'd been told not to. Not that he protested much, trying to scream after his throat had been crushed was not something he wanted to repeat. Still, the text was a little too impersonal for him and he was already counting down the days until he could speak again.

"Ok Bumblebee, hold still," Ratchet commanded. The medic reconnected the cables Bumblebee pulled in his plight, statistics blinking back into view on the screens. "Hmph, your coolant levels are abysmal. We'll take care of that in a minute, I'm running the scan. More likely than not, you opened a weld somewhere."

Bumblebee shuddered as he felt the program run its course. A scan like this was invasive and he felt fortunate Soundwave hadn't tried to hack him. Of course, other things happened that he'd be severely scarred from when all the inhibitors finally wore off (or he stopped living in denial, whichever came first), but he could relax with the knowledge a deep scan would only ever cause him mild discomfort.

All three mechs in the room knew there was time to kill. Bumblebee had to stay online for the remainder of the scan which could take the better part of a joor. Whatever needed immediate attention would have popped up the moment Bee had been connected. For once, a stroke of luck for the scout and Ratchet would never admit it out loud, but he was relieved Bumblebee hadn't done more than make a few more dents in himself. Speaking of which, the scout was still aesthetically in rough shape. Saving his spark came first, but Ratchet eyed every tear and gap in the dirtied armor. They'd clean him up when the time came, after everything major had been repaired and Bumblebee didn't need anything for what pain he was in now.

However, both older mechs were here for a reason and it became obvious the longer Bee had to hold still. As predicted, Bumblebee made the first move. After all, it was only business. This was how the job worked: you got back, you debriefed, and then you went to the rec room for a cube or stumbled back to your quarters and recharged for as many cycles as you were allowed. Those outside of the scout class never understood why the scouts were always allowed to take more than their fair share of rations after a mission and they possibly never would, but it was a necessity. Bumblebee absentmindedly tugged at the energon drip leading into a main line. Oh yes, he'd run the protocol for the extent of his imprisonment and by the looks of it, he'd be on the direct feed for a while. That was never fun. But he could think about that later, for now, he still had a job to do as long as he was able and now that a commanding officer was in the vicinity, he could finish his objective.

Sir, I do have time-sensitive information to report. Would it be a good time for a debrief?

Ratchet and Optimus locked optics, the medic relenting and offering a jerky nod. It wasn't a formal debriefing with the rest of the officers, but Bumblebee needed this to be more personal. There was a story to tell - one even Ratchet hadn't heard the full details of - and it was one Bumblebee didn't seem keen to share with the rest of the Autobots. Emotionally, he'd been the closest with the two mechs only meters away from him and those two mechs would probably be the only to ever know the story in full.

Neither were going to fail the scout again. Taking up residence in the few chairs within the suite, both mechs prepared to sit vigil and listen. "If you are up to the task, then we are here. This is not a formal session, although we will treat it as one due to the nature of the information at hand and the surrounding circumstances," Optimus explained. "You are free to start or stop at any time as long as you relay what is needed. Do you have any questions before we begin?"

Bumblebee appeared to think for a moment, slowly nodding after a few seconds. He recognized the invitation for what it was. There were whispers among the scouts of what they'd dubbed "therapy debriefs." Out of the other classes of the army, scouts had the highest capture rate and the highest offlining rate. Scouts weren't meant to fight like the warriors. While that didn't imply they couldn't hold their own, they were the ones sent into the worst of enemy territory. A good scout came home with much needed intel about the enemy. A good scout didn't get caught. And if they did?

A good scout didn't break.

Though he'd kept his integrity and created a new reputation, Bumblebee knew he was broken. He felt the beginnings of it beneath the inhibitors and he knew he needed to get rid of it. He needed to continued being a scout, redeem himself, prove that he wasn't some unfortunate child who was in over his head. He could be respected and relied on and he refused to let any experience infringe on that.

However, that was easier said than done when he kept flinching at any sudden movements or harshly recoiled when touched. But he could fix that, fix himself when the time came, and as much as he didn't want to share his ordeal, he had to. From what the others had said, these kinds of debriefings helped push it all away. Tell the story once and never tell it again. The other scouts could do it, so he could to.

How much can you keep confidential?

"Anything that is not pertinent to the cause or endangers another."

Bumblebee nodded. Most of the story wasn't necessary, he knew that. But the more he thought about it, the more he needed to get it out. He'd asked about the rest of the team before - of Datum and Acceleron - and learned only one survived. Like him. Even then, he doubted he'd see them again.

So he cycled in a vent and got as comfortable as he could. It was going to be a long night.


	2. Meet the Team

All in all, things were looking up.

At first, Bumblebee had been highly skeptical of the sudden transfer. He knew there'd been more behind the order than Iacon needing more trained scouts, but he wasn't going to complain. Kalis had been a personal hellhole. Between the jeering and neglect, Iacon's stressful atmosphere was a welcome change of pace.

Now, he thrived. He knew Jazz was keeping an optic on him, but he didn't mind. Jazz was a friend, had his back in ways he could only imagine. Once in Special Ops, always in Special Ops. Still, it was nice knowing he had a friend at least professionally. He was trusted here, that's all he ever wanted.

The bounce was back in his step as he half-jogged alongside Cliffjumper, smile wide and doorwings held high. Though Cliff was a higher rank, he seemed to humor Bumblebee's curious advances and in no time at all, they had a steady friendship. Or at least, they were friendly. Bumblebee wasn't going to count his blessings just yet. This was a fantastic step in the right direction, no need to jinx it.

"So Bee, you off this cycle?" Cliff asked, swaggering a bit as he walked. With a smirk, he winked as Arcee and Tailgate passed by. Arcee rolled her optics, making a shooing motion with her servo. Tailgate gave a thumbs-up. Beyond Bumblebee's line of vision, he heard a very loud, whiny protest from Tailgate.

"I, uh, yeah. Yeah, off for the next two." That was an improvement, he only stammered once. That was better than the five he'd been at before. Baby steps. Cliffjumper, patient as ever with him, smiled and playfully nudged his hydraulic.

"C'mon kid, relax. I was just gonna invite ya for some drinks." Cliff nudged the younger mech again. "Y'know, high grade. I know you're old enough, despite what Prowl may think."

Bumblebee made a very concerted effort to relax his frame, willing his backstrut to let up just a little. "I-I'm not sure if that's the best idea. I mean, me going out. With other bots. No, no, that came out wrong. I'd love to, but there's training I should catch up on, like sparring and interrogation simulations- "

A hydraulic found its way around his shoulders and he tensed for just a moment. A look passed over Cliffjumper's face, quickly replaced with a smile. "Mech, you got yourself all worked up over nothing. You need to relax. 'Raj and Ironhide would love to see you as, well, _you._ Not Bumblebee the Scout, but just Bumblebee. If you could get out of your quarters for a few joors, we'd love to get to know him."

He wanted to say yes. By the Primes, with his entire spark, he wanted this. The smile had already worked its way across his faceplates, the acceptance right on his vocal processors. Yes, he would love to. He'd love to hang out and laugh and talk and—

" _Friends don't kill friends. We have more honor than you ever will. Nobody speak to him, nobody acknowledge him. He's already shown us that the only thing he's good for is_ _ **his job."**_

Immediately, Bumblebee tensed again, sliding out from underneath Cliffjumper's hydraulic. "Thanks so much for the invite, Cliff, but I'm gonna have to pass. The transfer and everything…I-I'm not up to code here, you know? Should get on that. Still getting my bearings and I think it would be best if I did it alone."

"You've been here for- " Too late, Bumblebee was halfway down the hall. Slipped away. Again.

"It means a lot, I'm serious!" the scout shouted once more before jogging off.

Cliffjumper sighed, running a servo across his helm. "Mech, when are you gonna learn to let bots in?" Of course, the mech in question didn't hear him.

Bumblebee turned quickly, hiding his faceplate. Avoiding the others should be easier than this. He'd gone at least a month without being socially acknowledged, why was turning down an invitation making his spark constrict?

In-venting deeply, he gathered his thoughts and shoved them away. Do your job, do as your told, and keep your helm down. That's all he had to do to make life bearable and prevent further emotional torment than had already been dealt. Easy.

With a new, false spring in his step, he made his way towards the shooting range. Truth be told, he was up to code. Any additional training was to kill time and tire him enough to recharge.

Just as he was entering his credentials for the range, a private text comm. entered his HUD. For a moment, he suspected it was a fancy, formal invitation Cliffjumper whipped up, but once he noticed it was from a much higher-ranking officer, all emotional comprehension flew out the window.

Private Communication: TIC Jazz

Confirm Y/N

Enter Credentials

:: Autobot Scout Z-B7 of Iacon Alpha Squad, previously Kaon Delta Sqaud ::

Credentials…Accepted

Begin Message

:: Report to briefing room 984, we have a mission if you're interested. Knowing you, you'll most likely be interested. I need the best of the best and that's you. See you in a few. ::

Message Deleted. No Prior History Found.

He didn't mind that his cycles of downtime were being devoted to a briefing. At least now he didn't have to debate which sections of the base to sequester himself off to. And hey, a mission was good news. Maybe this would show the Kalis bots what he was really made of.

* * *

This wasn't a solo mission.

Despite what it felt like, Bumblebee's fuel pump did indeed stay within the confines of his frame instead of jumping so high that it went through the ceiling. It was a small relief, no need to embarrass himself in front of four bots that barely knew him.

At the head of the table sat Datum, helm held high like the respected scout he was. Bumblebee had lost track of the number of reports that had Datum's signature attached, but he was nothing short of a legend to any and all Autobot scouts. Though his frame appeared far more suited to that of a frontliner, he excelled in data collecting, long-distance leadership, and observation. All things needed in a good, trusted scout.

Acceleron sat to his right, another top scout. Specialties included speed and well-encrypted messages. She was more inclined for couriering – as was Bumblebee at the time of his training – but couriers soon evolved into scouts. They'd been paired for sparring a handful of times and each time, she'd handed him his aft on a silver platter. She was kind, though, and was one of the best scout trainers in the facility.

Scattershot took the seat to Datum's left. A hard mech to read, a great scout for scenarios with a high risk of capture, he could be considered one of the Autobot coding legends. Bumblebee knew a handful of scouting firewalls had been tested by this mech and the amount of respect he held for Scattershot was immense. After all, anyone would hold a once captured scout in high regard.

At the end of the table was Bumper. He was happy-go-lucky, everybody's friend, and better than Bumblebee could ever hope to be. A jack-of-all-trades in the scouting circuit, there wasn't a thing Bumper couldn't do. Though he didn't specialize in any one area, his eclectic nature made him perfect for rounding out any strike force.

So if Jazz already put together a team of all-star scouts, what the hell was Bumblebee doing here?

"Bumblebee!" Bumper waved happily. "Primus, I'm so happy I'm not the youngest one here anymore! This team is gonna be awesome, I know it."

Acceleron huffed, rolling her optics as she smirked. "Gotta say, I was skeptical when Jazz said he was replacing Hound, but Kalis's golden boy will do just fine." Cocking her helm towards Bumblebee, who still stood awkwardly in front of the door, she nodded towards an empty chair. "C'mon now, take a seat. We don't bite…much. I can't vouch for Scattershot."

Scattershot gave a very proud, very toothy grin.

Bumblebee looked just as lost as he felt. Stiffly, he sat down in the offered seat, muttered a quick thank you, and kept his helm down. Despite his position, he could see Scattershot raise an optic ridge and Acceleron shrug in response. Datum didn't pay him much mind, but there was a presence to his right…

"You ok?"

Bee looked up, only to find Bumper inches away from his faceplate. He yelped, nearly falling backwards in his chair, only saved by Acceleron's reflexes. Bumper's servos flew to his intake in shock.

"Easy, Bumper," Acceleron chastised. "Don't give the poor mech a spark attack." The youngling in question pouted and Bumblebee swore he could see a hint of pity in his equal's optics. But it was gone, replaced with an apologetic smile and a helpful servo.

"Sorry for startling you. You just looked so tense," Bumper rambled, fully pulling Bumblebee to his pedes. "After all, we're going to be a team and I want you to feel comfortable around us. I get it, seriously. What they did…it wasn't right."

"Bumper." Datum warned, voice stern. The mark of a leader. If he wanted it, Bee figured he could find his way into Optimus Prime's inner circle. Within moments of entering the room, he already had Bee's respect.

"It's fine," Bumblebee finally managed to sputter. "Thank you, but it's fine. I'm over it." Plastering on a smile, he slipped into the seat beside Acceleron. "So, does anyone know what the mission is?"

"I'm glad you asked!" A familiar voice, followed by a familiar mech, entered the room. At the front of the table stood Jazz, visor up and datapads in hand. "How's it going, bots? Scattershot, how was the last mission?"

"Boring, thank Primus." Scattershot huffed, sliding over a memory stick. "But I'll take boring over Soundwave. Here's the list of coordinates you wanted."

"Nice!" Slipping the information into a subspace pocket, Jazz began sliding the datapads towards their assigned bots. "Acceleron, how're the recruits doing?"

"Wish we had more scouts, most are suited for frontliners or will very quickly climb the ranks to warriors." She looked disappointed. Scouts had short shelf lives. Bee figured it was a miracle they even got so many experienced ones in the same room.

"Figured as much, but we'll take all the help we can get." Jazz turned to Bumper. "And how 'bout you?"

"Still learning the layout of base, but everyone here's very nice! Feels like Tagan Heights, you know?" Bumper shot a smile towards Bumblebee. He wasn't quite sure how to respond, so he didn't. The datapad made for a wonderful new distraction.

"I know, mech. Transferring is always hard, but Iacon'll grow on you." Oh, now Jazz was looking at him. Normally, Bee would be elated. Jazz was easy to get along with, dependable, and someone Bumblebee looked up to. "How're you adjusting, Bee?"

All optics were on him. He fidgeted uncomfortably, offering a shy wave towards the spymaster. "Fine, thanks." Oh Primus, just end this already…

Thankfully, Jazz's specialty was reading bots. In a flash, he was next to Datum and attention was diverted. "So, what do you think of your team?"

"I couldn't ask for better scouts," Datum responded proudly. "Everyone has fantastic records and are adept problem solvers on and off the field. I'm sure we'll become a cohesive team in no time at all."

"That's good to hear, because time is something we don't have." And just like that, it was back to business. Each scout activated their datapads, skimming and memorizing the information as quickly as possible. Jazz gave them a klik before he began the briefing. "The Decepticons are planning something big. Intel reports whispers of a new vessel. While we grounded most warships in the early days of the war, Decepticons may be constructing one. Additional analysis reports a possible space bridge, range unknown. Either way, we believe they're going to leave the system, possibly in search of more energon deposits off-world."

Bumblebee's optics caught sight of the stolen coding and focused on that. Hacking was quickly becoming one of his better skills. Soundwave's signature crawled over the numbers, but Bee couldn't quite decipher the purpose. He'd work on it later, in the off cycles where recharge didn't come.

"What do you want us to do?" Scattershot asked, sliding the datapad back. "Activity is everywhere and Kaon is a death sentence." Jazz nodded, snapping the item in half without giving it a second glance. He always was one for dramatics, Bee noted.

"Take it one step at a time. You're all scheduled for team training sessions. You need to be able to communicate with each other and more importantly, you need trust." Jazz's optics turned to Bee. It was quick, no one else noticed, but that flash of panic still stung Bee's spark. "Is that understood?"

"Yes, sir." They chorused, each sliding the datapads down the table. Smirking, Jazz collected them.

"I know you're gonna be great," he said. "Dismissed."

Scattershot and Bumper practically bolted for the door, muttering something about a game record and sparring. Acceleron rolled her optics, the third to leave and clearly taking her time. As she left, a servo lingered on Bee's pauldron. "Relax, Bumblebee. You can trust us."

He watched her leave, counting the kliks until she'd make it down either end of the hall. Then, he could leave undetected. Soon enough, it was time to leave. As soon as he passed through the threshold, his audials caught something.

"—don't have to accept. There are others capable enough." Jazz, whispering. Hiding something. Spymaster.

"I know what you're implying and we both know you would raise far too much suspicion." Datum. Tactical. Calm. Resigned. "I assure you, I am prepared for this mission…anything for the betterment and continued existence of our race. This is beyond the team, beyond Autobots and Decepticons. I understand the risks and accept them."

A sigh. He shouldn't be listening to this. "Here. Keep your chronometer synced at all times. It's not happening yet, but again, we don't know how much time we have."

There was the scrape of a chair and Bumbebee bolted. He shouldn't have heard that, but the entire conversation sent a terrible chill through his protoform. What could they have possibly been referring to?

"Bumblebee." The scout in question jumped to attention, servo shooting up in a stiff salute. Yes, there was a good reason to show instant respect to Datum.

"Yes, sir?" He hesitantly met the other mech's optics. "Is there something I can do for you, sir?"

"At ease, Bee. I may be your team leader, but on the field, we all act as the same rank. I want it the same here. Relax, youngling." Bee suppressed a flinch as Datum rested a servo on his shoulder. This was a normal thing bots did, something reassuring…but it could be restraining and social cues always trapped him as he was led down hallway after hallway, met with jeering faces with no escape—

"Apologies, sir." Slowly, his servo drifted back down to his side. "I'm…I'm trying."

"That's all I ask." Datum sighed, giving the scout's pauldron a gentle squeeze before letting go. "You are a talented scout and a resilient soldier. You have more than earned your place here and I hope we can help you see that. We begin in eight joors. If there is anything you want to talk about, anything at all, my frequency's open."

Bumblebee watched his newly appointed leader walk away, simply standing shell shocked in the hallway. Just like Jazz, he thought. Open, welcoming, always wanting to help and fix and befriend even if the job wouldn't allow for it.

A good mech, so unlike himself.

Someday, maybe he could learn to be like that. But for now, there were social interactions he had to prepare for and simulations to run. Dread weighed down his spark. Maybe the transfer wasn't such a good idea.

* * *

 **A/N: ...It's been a while. Sorry. X3 Next chapter will be up sooner!**


End file.
